


Angel on the Edge

by rinwritesthings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Limited Name Use, M/M, POV Third Person, and i have fEELINGS, i just got thrown back into my supernatural loving days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 21:45:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19326715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinwritesthings/pseuds/rinwritesthings
Summary: An extremely short view at Cas before the first apocalypse, and our angel has some feelings.





	Angel on the Edge

An angel, seen as a savior to those who don’t know him, stands on the precipice. The wind nearly throws him at this height but he holds his ground. He’s just realized something. Sometimes that could be horrible. He’s in love. 

The angel sits down, feet over the edge with his large black wings drawn close to his shoulders. He’s in love with a disaster. A hunter who will probably die from liver disease. A man who’s so scarred he can’t tell what normal is. A man who the angel saved. 

He saved the man from hell, in the most literal sense. The angel can remember that world perfectly as it was. It makes him shiver thinking about it. But the man is safe. With his misfit family and the angel by his side, he seems to be holding it together for now. The angel knows he’s not as fine as he seems but...to push the subject might be to push him away completely. It frightens him. 

Up so high on the roof, it reminds the angel of flying. The wind ruffling his hair, moving his coat around his legs, chilling his body. When he closes his eyes, it carries the illusion. There’s silence up here. Calm. The beauty of the human world strewn out below him like paint on a canvas. He smiles to himself softly.

But, his eyes have to open. He has to move. There’s work to do. The end of all things is around the corner and he is at the center of it all. The eye of the storm brews around his feet and he’ll hold his ground like he does on this rooftop, with ease. 

The angel sighs, realized he’s wasting time. His eyes open slow. He stands, facing down what could be his doom if he were mortal, and looks to the sky. Maybe his guidance is up there, or maybe the almighty has dispersed throughout time and space. The angel might never know for sure. 

Then, in the midst of the quiet and contemplation, a voice appears in the back of his mind. The man. He speaks, confused, the angel looks down. Again, he has work to do. 

In a flurry of feathers, he lands by the man. In their conversations, the angel can say he finds respit in the mans words. His voice somehow makes the angel calmer, less tense about imminent destruction. The man might not notice, or perhaps he does, but the angel holds a fondness for him. It leads him to being rash, and it will continue to. 

The angel turns to go, and just as he flaps his wings he hears “Cas-“ But, he’s gone. The rooftop greets him just as before. He sits in the center this time, lays back. He wasn’t expecting this.


End file.
